by Noelle Adams
“Or you grab it with both hands and don’t let go until it’s finished.” Caleb supplied.
“Bingo.”
“I only wish I had been in the position to ask a question like that.” Blake’s voice came from above them, and they both turned to look at her. She was standing on the second floor landing, looking down at them as she had once looked down upon Rube and Greg. She started slowly down the staircase. “But no one ever gave me the option.”
Caleb felt himself stiffen at her words. He tried to move beyond it, onto something else. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” she said simply. When she saw that he was about to rise, she held out a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” She moved into the kitchen, out of sight. “Do you gentlemen want anything? This is still my home for the moment, so I may as well play hostess.”
“We’re fine, thanks.” Caleb spoke for both of them. His eyes drifted over to Steve, who was studiously looking out the glass doors. The emotional side of this situation wasn’t his purview, after all, and he was keeping well out of it – although Caleb did see him check his cell phone, as if to hurry along the call that they were all waiting for.
Caleb knew that there was really nothing he could say to Blake at this point to make things right. She simply didn’t trust him anymore, and he really couldn’t blame her. Instinct was telling him to stay where he was, to not try to go after her, but he couldn’t help himself. He hauled himself out of the chair and made his way into the kitchen.
He found her standing at the counter, paring an apple. A jar of raw sesame butter was standing nearby, and she had loaded a plate with chopped celery and carrots. Apparently, even her comfort food was healthy.
He tried opening with a joke. “You know, if you wrap those veggies in a pepperoni pizza, you’ll have a snack that’s good and good for you.”
She had the good grace to turn and shoot a smile over her shoulder. “Why didn’t I think of that?” she murmured. “I’m sure I’ve got some pepperoni around here someplace.”
Caleb leaned against the kitchen counter. “For what it’s worth, we’ll be out of your way soon and then you can have your home back.”
Blake looked at him, eyes full of unspoken words. Her lips parted, and he held his breath, waiting for her to speak.
But before she had a chance, a shrill shriek cut the air, making them both jump. It was a single note repeated over and over again, inhuman and terrible. Blake’s eyes widened. “The alarm!” she whispered, and started for the front.
He was after her like a flash, elbowing her gently aside, eyes sweeping back and forth, looking for intruders. He pushed Blake up against a wall and motioned for her to stay, ignoring the fury in her eyes, then drew his gun and started forward again. His gaze sought and found Steve, who appeared from around the corner, also with his gun drawn.
Caleb motioned Steve to check the back, while he would take the front. But before they could move, the front door burst open and a man stumbled inside. He was bleeding from a gash in his temple. The clothes he was wearing were dirty and torn. He only managed a few steps before he staggered, and fell to the floor.
“Oh my God!” Blake’s voice could be heard above the shrill whine of the alarm. Her voice was ashen, her hands trembling. She pushed Caleb aside and rushed forward before he could stop her. “Oh my God, it’s Rube!”
Twenty-Four
With the alarm still clanging, Blake rushed forward and knelt down beside Rube. He was hurt, his jacket was torn. But he was breathing.
She helped him sit up. “Rube, are you okay? What the hell is going on?”
He tried to speak but she couldn’t hear him. She jumped up to shut off the alarm. After she’d typed the code into the keypad, she went to kneel down again, but Caleb and Steve both caught her in mid-flight.
“Wait,” Caleb commanded, holding her arms. All his soft supplication was gone. At this moment he was not the man trying to win her heart, he was the man trying to save her skin. “Steve, call the police.”
But Steve was already on the phone.
Rube looked up at them balefully. He touched the blood that was running down his face. “The cops won’t get here in time,” he told them.
“What are you talking about?” Caleb asked.
“There are people coming after me. They’ll be here any minute. I tried to get away, but they forced my car off the road and cut across the hills down to the beach. It won’t take long for them to guess where I was headed. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Who’s after you?” Caleb demanded.
Rube said one word: “Betch.”
Blake shook her head. Had Rube just said what she thought he’d said? “Greg? Greg’s the one who’s been after us?”
Rube nodded. “He’s been trying to take over my operation for months, only I was too stupid to see it. I knew somebody was after me, but I didn’t know it was Greg. It was only after that night, when we were questioning Jake Callahan that I realized Greg was at the bottom of this mess. I knew that I had to disappear, to shake things up, and that’s what I did.”
His gaze moved to Blake, who was tugging against Caleb’s restraint. “I’m so sorry, babe. I tried to keep you out of this.” He looked back at Steve and Caleb. “I take it you’re the bodyguards?”
Blake stopped struggling. She felt her face go white. “What did you say?”
“I’m the one who hired Peterson’s firm.” He saw the expression on Blake’s face and hurried to explain. “I was afraid that something might happen to you. I knew I was in serious trouble and I didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. But then I heard about what happened at the cabin, and I knew I had to come back. I never expected that Greg would actually try to hurt you, but I guess that when he couldn’t find me, he decided to go after you.”
Caleb let go of Blake’s arm. She took two steps toward Rube, then stopped. She didn’t know what to say. Ever since Rube had disappeared Greg had been whispering in her ear, acting scared, acting like the injured party. And all that time, Greg had been the one who was dangerous.
Steve and Caleb were conferring in low voices. Finally Caleb turned to Rube. “Okay, come on. We’re going to get out of here, go to the police station. This mess can all be sorted out down there.”
But it was too late for that. Outside, they could hear the sound of car doors closing. Rube struggled to his feet. Blake had never seen him so frightened. “There’s no time,” he said. “They’re here.” He looked at Blake. “Are the guns still in my safe?”
“Here,” Caleb said. “Take mine.” He handed it over, then pulled a second weapon from his ankle holster. Then he turned to Blake, his eyes full of anguish.
She knew that look. Caleb had been so determined to keep her safe, but now he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it. She wanted to speak, to tell him again that this wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t find her voice. There were men outside. Men with guns, who wanted to kill them. Steve had called the police, but Blake knew that Rube was right: it would take them at least three more minutes to get here, and by then they could all be dead. She met Caleb’s gaze, then her eyes drifted to Rube. “What do we do?”
Caleb seemed to shake himself. He spoke quickly. “If the men outside are well trained, they’ll scout the place out. This house has an open floor plan, which means there are fewer places to hide. The game room will offer the most protection, so that’s where we’re headed.”
They moved quickly, with a minimum of conversation. Inside the game room, they slid the double doors closed, turned the flimsy lock, and slid the sofa in front of them. Even Blake could tell that it wouldn’t keep out anyone who was determined to get in. But it would definitely slow them down, and hopefully that would be enough.
The room had only one window, a smallish one that faced the front of the house. They propped the cue rack in front of it, then pushed the remaining furniture around the billiard table, effectively barricading themselves behind the table
. After that there was nothing to do but wait. Blake found herself counting the seconds, waiting for the first shot to be fired. The air seemed deathly quiet. Then everything exploded at once.
A hollow popping sound was the starting bell for a barrage of bullets. The windows behind them exploded, and Blake ducked, stifling a scream.
“They won’t come through the window,” Caleb said in her ear. “They’re just rattling us. When they come, it will be through the doors. Stay focused, and stay behind me.” To the men he added, “Aim carefully, and conserve your ammunition. Remember, we only have to hold out until the cops get here.”
Rube nodded, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes from Blake’s face. He watched the interaction between her and Caleb intently, his expression inscrutable.
Outside, the shooting continued, but Blake took Caleb’s words to heart and was able to tune it out. She thought she heard the sound of the patio doors shattering, and she pictured men slithering inside like snakes on two legs.
It didn’t take them long to find the billiard room. Gun butts were used to hammer through the paneled wood. The doors were torn aside, and the gunmen ducked down behind the sofa.
“Dammit!” Caleb spit out the word. The couch was supposed to slow their entry, but it had turned into the perfect cover for them.
Shots were fired, splintering the wood behind them. Steve, Caleb and Rube returned the fire, peppering the couch with bullets.
Peering over the table, Blake watched as one of the gunmen tried to climb through the opening. Beside her, Rube took careful aim and fired. The gunman’s body tumbled to the ground. A second man, this one more clever, aimed above their heads at the antique light fixture that hung from the ceiling.
That was the moment when Blake felt time slow down. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The light came crashing down, hitting the billiard table square in the center. Glass flew in every direction. The four of them hiding behind the table ducked their heads, shielding their eyes. The man who had fired, seeing his opportunity, vaulted the sofa and crossed the room. He took aim, pointing his gun directly at Blake. Her blood ran cold as she looked into the black, frozen face of death. She watched the man squeeze the trigger.
The next thing she knew, Caleb was pushing her to the ground, covering her body with his. She heard the shot, felt Caleb flinch. Her heart screamed as she pictured the bullet entering Caleb’s body, imagined his blood gushing from an open wound.
Caleb rolled off of her, and she sat up. Her mind went numb with relief when she saw that he was unharmed. It was a second later that her eyes found Rube, slumped and bleeding from the shoulder. She stretched out her hands toward him, but he motioned her to stay away.
When Caleb saw that Rube had moved in front of him, even as he had moved in front of Blake, his face went taut with rage. He stood and fired his last three bullets, straight into the chest of the man who’d tried to shoot Blake.
As his last shot rang out, there was a moment of thunderous silence, followed by the wail of police sirens. Red lights flashed outside, and a megaphone squawked to life. Blake could have wept as a tinny voice announced the arrival of the LAPD, and ordered all those within to come out with hands clasped behind their heads.
The ordeal was over, as quickly as it had started.
Twenty-Five
The beach house was now a crime scene. Blake sat on the back of an open ambulance, a blanket wrapped around her. Every once in a while someone would come by and check on her – touch her face, look into her eyes, take her pulse. She tried to wave them away; sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn’t. Rube had already been hustled away in another ambulance. Blake had tried to go with him, to ride along and make sure that he would be okay, but she hadn’t been allowed. Of course there had been reassurances: his wounds weren’t fatal, he was in good hands, etc. That was all well and good, but she didn’t want to hear that he would probably be okay; she wanted to know that he was. And as the minutes slipped by and threatened to become hours, her fear for him began to boil into anger.
There were people everywhere; the flashing lights of emergency vehicles made their hurried movements seem jerky and unnatural. From where she sat she could see Caleb and Steve talking to a police detective. They gestured and pointed to various parts of the house, describing for the umpteenth time what exactly had happened tonight. The detective would want to question her, too, of that Blake was sure. But Caleb and Steve were currently bearing the brunt of the investigation.
Eventually the men deigned to come out of the house to talk to her. She lifted her chin and prepared to give them the full force of her displeasure of having been left alone for so long, not knowing what had happened to Rube, not really sure if this whole thing was over, or if there were still miles to go before she could sleep.
But the sight of Caleb’s bruised and weary face deflated her fury like air seeping from a balloon. How long had it been since he’d had a full night’s sleep? Two days? Three? At least she’d been able to sleep most of the day. His eyes were dark and hollowed, his gait was heavy and uneven. As he got closer, she couldn’t help but lift up a hand to touch his arm. Suddenly, she was too exhausted to be angry. Only one thing really mattered to her right now.
She licked her dry lips and spoke. “Rube?”
If Caleb was hurt that her first words were not for him, he gave no sign. “He’s doing fine; the lieutenant here just talked to the hospital.”
Relief was a cool wind washing over her. She sagged from the weight of the release. “Thank God.”
Caleb’s eyes focused in the distance, as if he were trying figure something out. “Rube saved my life. I didn’t count on something like that happening.”
“I told you he was a good guy.” Blake tried to keep the tone of mild rebuke from her voice, but failed miserably.
Steve spoke up. “I don’t know about that. For such a good guy, he’s been into some very bad things.” He caught Caleb’s look and apparently decided not to press the point. Instead, he turned to the third man standing with them. “This is Lieutenant Holmes. He wants to ask you a few questions.”
Despite her exhaustion, Blake had to resist the urge to say, “Elementary, my dear Watson.” With a name like Holmes, this guy must get that all the time. She shifted slightly, feeling the heaviness of the wool blanket sitting uncomfortably on her shoulders. “How can I help?” she asked.
Holmes was as precise an image of an LAPD detective as Blake could have summoned. Of middling age and middling weight, his suit was wrinkled and his face was world-weary. But when he spoke, his voice was patient, competent, and official. The man was in charge. “The first thing I want you to know is that the man who Mr. McKenna and Mr. Peterson referred to as ‘Pinkshirt’ is dead. His real name was Marvin Alford, and he was not a nice man. His wife and her children are fine – they’re in police custody for the moment, but they’ll be released soon. The second thing is that although Greg Betch is currently at large, we have a line on him and he should be arrested within twenty-four hours. Now, are there any questions you need answered here?”
“About a million,” Blake said. “But I’m too tired to think of them right now.”
Holmes nodded. “I understand that, and I won’t keep you any longer than necessary. I’d like to get you down to the station to make a full statement tomorrow, but there are a few points which I think should be cleared up right away. You told Mr. McKenna here that you’d seen a man named Jake being interrogated by Rube Jeffries and Greg Betch on the night before Rube disappeared. Can you tell me about that in detail?”
Blake would have thought that telling the story again would be tedious, but it turned out to be a relief. The Lieutenant asked all the right questions, helping draw out more details than she’d known she could remember, waiting patiently when her voice started to shake with emotion. When she had finished talking, he nodded knowingly.
“We’ve had our eye on Rube’s operation for awhile, and we’ve known for some time that Betch was try
ing to take over. Unfortunately we didn’t realize that things would play out exactly the way that they did, but at least the casualties were kept to a minimum.” He turned and surveyed the house behind him: the glass blown out, the once-beautiful hardwood pockmarked with bullet holes. “Things could have been a lot worse, that’s for sure.”
He turned back to Blake, fishing a business card out of his pocket and handing it to her. “Here’s my contact information if you remember any of those questions you wanted to ask. Do you know where you’ll be staying in case I need to reach you?”
Steve stepped forward. His voice held an unexpected protective edge. “You can contact Ms. Sera through my office, Lieutenant.”
“You’ll come down tomorrow and make a statement?” Holmes asked Blake.
She looked at Steve, and he nodded. “Of course,” she said.
Holmes gave her a reserved smile. “Thank you. Get some rest.” His glance wandered upward to include Caleb and Steve in that last admonition. Then he turned and walked away.
With his departure, memories of a thousand different police dramas flooded Blake’s head. “Am I going to need a lawyer when I give my statement?”
Steve and Caleb exchanged a look. “You haven’t done anything illegal, but it’s never a bad idea to have an attorney present when talking to the police,” Steve said. “I can recommend someone for you if you like.”
Blake felt her lips stretch grimly. “This is LA, Steve. Lawyers lurk on every street corner. I can find my own representation.”
Steve shrugged and looked at Caleb. “You’ll call me first thing tomorrow?”
“First thing,” Caleb answered.
Steve tipped his head. “Then I guess this is good night.”
